


Darkness Take My Soul

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, seriously dark and nasty stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9259733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: When faced with his own death and that of everything he loves, Anduin finds something to empower him beyond imagination.A response giftfic to Dragomire for her giftfic to me of her truly dark "For Nothing"





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragomir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/gifts).
  * Inspired by [For Nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9159916) by [Dragomir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/pseuds/Dragomir). 



The shackles on his ankles had rubbed the skin raw, and they never seemed to heal.  He’d tried to heal them himself but they had some sort of warning system in place and he was punished for it.  The kind of punishment meant he hadn’t tried again.

Inflicting pain was their sport.  They didn’t need an excuse to hurt him, they enjoyed it.  Their only limitation was that he wasn’t to die - at least, not quite yet.  Gul’dan had ordered that, apparently.  He hadn’t seen the warlock since he and his father had been dragged before him after the fall of the city.  He couldn’t imagine what was being done to his father – or didn’t want to imagine.  If the demons and lesser warlocks enjoyed playing with him, Gul’dan’s treatment would be even worse.

He was lying on the floor of a corridor in the Keep, his back against the wall.  The only thing he wore was the tattered remains of his shirt, stained by dirt and blood and other things.  He was thirsty, and hungry, but he’d almost grown used to that state.  The last thing he’d eaten was a small rat that had come close while he’d pretended to sleep, and he caught it, snapped its little neck and eaten it raw.  It had tasted awful but the sensation of a full stomach had been more than worth it.  That had been days ago.  He wasn’t sure how many, time was hard to keep track of.  He sometimes managed to crawl somewhere and find water, even though moving anywhere earned him kicks and punches. 

Not many of its dead inhabitants would recognise Stormwind Keep.  Carcases hung from spikes hammered into the previously pristine walls, buzzing with flies and stinking.  Fires were lit wherever the new owners wanted them, for heat and light and cooking, and the ash and smokes stained the walls and ceilings.  Broken furniture and shattered items littered the halls, push backwards from the corridors to lie in heaps against the walls.  And everywhere there were the demons and the other servants of the Burning Legion.

Anduin wasn’t the only living captive.  Now and then he saw others, or heard their screams echoing from somewhere within the Keep.  Dull-eyed creatures, battered and enslaved as he was, they would pass him now and then with their eyes lowered, shuffling in their chains.  The demons used them as slaves, to carry things, to do whatever chores and jobs were suited to them.  And if they stumbled or became sick or too damaged to work they were slaughtered and tossed to the beasts and lesser demons to feed on.

Over the days since the Fall he’d become something of an expert at oral sex.  The warlocks particularly enjoying using his mouth and they’d made it very clear from the first time that any biting would earn him pain beyond anything he could imagine.  _Although lately my imagination has expanded considerably…._   They would take him to the warlock enclave in the keep, tie him down on his knees and force him onto their cocks, one after another.  Once past the initial horror of it, he’d learned to arouse and finish them off quickly, to make the whole thing go faster.  And at the end of it, if they were pleased with him or in a good mood or feeling generous, they’d pat his head and feed him scraps, and sometimes even a few mugs of stale Stormwind wine from the cellars.  It amused them to make him so drunk he could barely stagger.  And then they’d kick him out to lie, filthy and nauseous, in some corner, trying to find a few moment’s peace.

He wasn’t sure why he kept on living.  Logically, it was pointless.  But it was hard to let go of hope when it was all you had left.  Life had given him so many chances at survival, Anduin wondered if there might be one more.  But the option of dying was something he kept at the forefront of his mind.  He would have liked the chance to say goodbye to his father before he went, but he knew it was unlikely he’d have that chance.  And if it all became too utterly hopeless, he knew he would find a way to the Light, and see his father there in time.

He’d never considered that suicide might be so easy to plan for.

He thought of going somewhere to try and find water when he heard footsteps coming his way.  He kept his head lowered; raising it to stare usually earned a kick or punch.  Feet appeared in his lowered vision – an orc wearing warlock robes stopped in front of him.

“Get up.”

He struggled upright, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.  “Come with me, little prince, I have something to show you.”  The warlock turned and walked away and Anduin followed because to do otherwise was a waste of time.  He’d be forced to anyhow and suffer unnecessarily for any disobedience.  The warlock headed towards the main throne room and Anduin shuffled to try and keep up, his shackles clattering against the stone floor.  The warlock stopped at one of the side entries and waited for Anduin to catch up, then pointed through the opening.

“Watch.  See how your father is entertaining the Master.”

Anduin looked up and into the room, where once his father had held court for the leaders of the Alliance.  Now the King was on his hands and knees, restrained by some sort of metal frame.  He was sobbing in pain as Gul’dan moved behind him and it was obvious what the orc was doing.  The warlock next to Anduin chuckled softly.

“He mounts your father like a bitch almost every day.  I think perhaps the Master enjoys it more than your father does.”

He tried to look away but the warlock held his head still.  Gul’dan’s movement became more violent as he held onto Varian’s hips, driving himself back and forth, grunting and finally finishing with a shouted growl of satisfaction.

Anduin was pulled away from the door, hearing the shattered sobs from his father as the orc dragged him down the corridor.  He guessed what would follow, he’d heard the orc’s panting breath, seen him stroking his groin at the sight of the rape.  And as he was pushed face forward against the wall, as the orc tore into his body and growled his pleasure at Anduin’s pain, he thought that it was a dark sort of symmetry that had them both suffering the same fate.  The universe, it seemed, had a peculiar sense of humour.

And when he was finally done he let Anduin slide to the floor, unconcerned that his cock had torn the human open inside, that he was bleeding out even as he hit the floor.  Anduin could sense the hot flow across his thighs and he curled around himself, the coppery tang of his blood as it pooled beneath him filling his senses.

 _At last._   Suicide wasn’t necessary after all.  At last he would find peace, he would be with the Light in a place without pain.  He drifted, slipping into a trance, a familiar Healer’s place where one went to seek out the core of their spirit.  There he could wait for his final heartbeat, and slide away from life.

The path grew dim and shadowed but he followed it, further and further inside, deeper into the other place that he’d touched on once or twice, and been warned to avoid.  It is a one way journey, his teachers had said, and it leads somewhere you don’t want to go.

But he did want to go there, because the pain didn’t follow him as he slid further down.  Eventually he didn’t feel his body at all but _something_ ahead called to him and he kept going.  It was as a good a time as any to find out what it was that frightened the healers, what it was in this spiritual chasm that echoed his slowing heartbeat, that was all stillness and waiting and endless patience.

When he thought there was nowhere further to go, yet there was, a pathway led further down and then ahead he sensed something.  Something enormous, something that drew a breath only once in a century, whose thoughts were slow like the turning of the world.  There was no sense of danger there, no evil taint, no Light either.  It simply was.  And it sensed him, called to him in a slow voice like the grinding of continents, like the shifting of the world.

Finally Anduin drifted to a stop before it, wonder lighting the tired remains of his consciousness.  It was enormous, its boundaries were unseen and Anduin sensed tentacle-like structures moving in the darkness around a body whose details he could not perceive. 

_Greetings, small one. You do not know me, do you._

Anduin obviously didn’t.  _No.  I feel that I should._

He sensed shadowy amusement.  _I am the last of the Shat’yar.  My name is N’Zoth._

Lessons from his youth rose to the surface and a small part of him shivered in awe.

_An Old God?_

The big shape twitched.  _Yes._

He remembered then.  This being was an enemy of the Titans, and enemy of all life as Anduin knew it.  The Shat’yar – the Old Gods – had been created to corrupt the Titan world core of Azeroth and had been imprisoned or destroyed.  He couldn’t recall much more, just that this being should be his ultimate foe.  Yet he could not sense evil.  Nor could he sense good.  Only power and patience and an unbreakable will To Be.

_Yes, that was my original purpose.  Yet I no longer serve the Void Lords.  I no longer serve anyone.  My desires are as simple as those of the lowliest creature that crawls on the world above – to exist.  To survive.  To be strong.  And you can help me with this aim, little human._

Anduin shivered as he sensed his life essence beginning to fade.  _I’m dying.  I’m a single human.  How can I help a god?_

_By becoming more than that.  By letting me join with you.  You will have the power of a god, and can destroy the Burning Legion and save your world.  If that is your desire._

And he explained, as if he were instructing a child, that he could not leave his prison at that time but that if he linked with an earthbound spirit that was as close to him as Anduin’s was, he could meld with that spirit and share his earthbound body.  Anduin suspected there was more to it than that – this was, after all, a God of Chaos – but right at that moment a desire for retribution, for punishment of the evil that had destroyed his people – was greater even than his wisdom. 

_And what was worse, that the Burning Legion destroyed Azeroth, or N’Zoth did?   Either way, it would be destroyed._

But an indefinable sense told him that N’Zoth did not want Azeroth’s destruction.  He wanted his freedom from imprisonment.  Beyond that, Anduin could not read.  And he was tired, so tired, and this was the moment he must choose.

So he agreed.  And he felt the power of an Old God sink into him and join with him and he felt himself propelled upwards out of the Great Darkness to the world above….

As sensation returned, he heard a voice.

“See, mongrel, how considerate I am?  Here, hold your son as he dies.  And tell me how kind I am to allow this.”

He heard his father’s shattered sobs, felt shaking arms take hold of him.  “Anduin…no….”

And the Power of Chaos flooded his mind.  His eyes opened and he looked up at the tired, bruised features, the sightless eyes in the destroyed face still showing a tortured love and thought, _No more_ …and then he was apart, floating upwards, transformed.

He saw himself through Gul’dan’s shocked sight.  Hair that had been gold was black now, flowing about his head in waving tendrils that flowed down his back.  His skin was white, deathly pale but a tracery of dark veins sparkled beneath the skin.  He was sheathed in a garment made out of darkness that had a life of its own, that sparkled and hissed and flowed to the ground in a cloud of smoke and mist. 

And his eyes were black, a darkness so great that they absorbed light, and let nothing out.  And those eyes were fixed on Gul’dan.

The orc warlock threw up his hands, yelling some pitiful chanting and green fire flowed from them to strike at Anduin.  It did nothing – he absorbed it into himself and turned it to chaos and sent it back to the orc in a wash of nothingness.  Gul’dan screamed and fell to his knees as black tentacles wrapped around him, holding him down and helpless. He turned to his father and lifted him up, as the chains and ropes and metal melted away like smoke.  There was no fear in those sightless eyes, no concern at what held him, nothing but pain and hope.

So he took his father to him, kissed his face, his destroyed eyes, his mouth and Chaos flowed into him, washing away Gul’dan’s foulness and filling him with power.

Varian sank slowly to the floor then straightened as armour formed about his renewed body.  It too was black, shining with its own light, and the weakness and pain that had been his existence for so long were gone.  He was strong again, his black eyes wild and furious.  No more blindness in those eyes, they saw far beyond the vision they’d had before. 

A sword grew in his hand, much the same in looks as his old weapon but this one was made of chaos and its edge was sharper than any steel.  He turned slowly to the fallen orc and smiled, and his teeth were sharp like a wolves.

“You called me your mongrel,” he whispered, sliding forward with unearthly grace.  “You made me into one.  Let’s see how I can remake you.”

He used his sword to carve away parts from Gul’dan until he was nothing more than a limbless, mewling trunk.  Satisfied, he turned to the lord of chaos who was his son.

“What now?”

Anduin smiled.  “Now, we clean the foulness from this place, and destroy the Burning Legion.  And then we find Sargeras.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by the author


End file.
